There is Literally No Caffeine in This Espresso, And I Will Sit Here Shaking Until I Get a Refund

After this and the previous seven espressos, I can safely say your coffee is a LIE.

I just finished this espresso, and I can safely say, without a doubt, that there was literally no caffeine in it—this or ANY of the previous seven.

I drink coffee all the time, every day in fact, and I drink a wide range of coffee drinks, not just Starbucks, not just independent coffee shops either, I drink Keurig sometimes, I also have an espresso maker at home, so when I taste coffee I know if it has caffeine in it, and when I first sat down here I felt so sleepy I thought I might collapse, so naturally I ordered an espresso. But after eight shots of this so-called “espresso,” I still feel like I could fall asleep, though it would be a fitful sleep, fitful because of my indignation, not because of the caffeine, and perhaps I will fall asleep, but NOT until you give me a refund.

Until you give me a refund, I’m just going to sit here and shake and talk loudly and freak everyone out.

Do you need more proof? Is my utter and total exhaustion not enough for you? Your espresso may have given me NARCOLEPSY, that’s how I’m feeling at this moment, and if that’s indeed the case, you WILL be hearing from my lawyer, but if you give me a refund I might rethink that, and then once I stop shaking I promise I’ll get out of here.

I’m going to show you just how tired I am. Watch this. I can barely keep my eyes open. See? Are you seeing this? Now they’re closed. Are you watching? I can’t tell if you’re watching. My eyes are shut. Look. Now I’m yawning. YAWNING. Now look at this: I can’t even hold my head up straight. It’s too heavy. Do you see this? My head’s like a balloon filled with sand.

Wait. Would that work? Would a balloon retain its balloon shape if it was filled with sand? Does anyone have a balloon and some sand we can test this out on? I’d go get some myself but I am SO freaking just, like, ready to fall over and HIBERNATE, here.

I’d like to speak to the manager. I think this may have been a personal attack. Obviously you have caffeinated espresso back there, back behind that stupid little counter, which is kind of shady to be honest, having a counter there like that; what are you hiding behind it? Enslaved sex workers? Classified blueprints to high-security government facilities? Enslaved sex workers performing obscene and unspeakable acts with blueprints to high-security government facilities? My imagination runs wild with the possibilities, but it does so in a weary, delirious way, because I have no caffeine in my system and am about to crash.

The crash that comes from drinking too much coffee can be bad, but it’s NOTHING compared to the crash that comes from not drinking any at all. With coffee, you go up and up and up, and then come plummeting down, and your whole world suddenly becomes dimmer; everything sucks, burn it all to the ground, and one more latte before I go, yes, I’ll take a double.

But the crash that comes when you drink nothing but eight to ten shots of decaffeinated espresso is SO MUCH worse because you start to realize that EVERYONE is plotting against you, and even though you’re sleepy, you can’t actually go to sleep, because what if these BEASTS in the coffee shop try to kill you in your sleep—so you just sit there in your chair and shake and wait for the crash to subside.

It’s an awful feeling. Unfortunately, the world doesn’t give you refunds on your feelings. I would know. I’ve complained A LOT, but whoever’s up there running the show is just not interested.

You, however? You can give me a refund.

I don’t wanna make a fuss. See, this is me shrugging, and how casual is shrugging? I don’t wanna make a scene, that’s obvious, we all saw me shrug. All I want is my money back, and maybe to reserve that bathroom for the next thirty minutes so I can sit on the cold floor and wait for this extreme anxiety I’m feeling to go away.

After that, I’ll get out of here, and you won’t see me again for a long time, until tomorrow morning. But when I come back , I want the real stuff, alright? None of this decaffeinated crap. It doesn’t do the trick.

Tomorrow morning, after eight shots of espresso, you’ll see how fun and light-hearted I can be. Once I have my coffee, I’ll be the life of the mother-effing party.